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Ultra Wormhole RP: K'sariya

NBP #1
Ranger San Sū-kagetsu

It was times like these where San came truly alive; nestled in the branches of a tree, with not a care in the world. Outside of the Enigma Ruins sprawled a dense forest, and it was here, at the edge overlooking the ruins, that San planned to meet with his next victim student, whom he would be accompanying into the Wormholes. Gamma had mentioned needing to take care of something off where San couldn't come, and while San would usually be upset about this, today it meant extra nap time.

Beneath him, nesting in another branch, was Cinder: a most peculiar bird of red and black, with spotted yellow tailfeathers and a knack for charging off into adventure. Today, however, Cinder seemed more than happy to perch and keep watch as San napped, preening its feathers in anticipation of the morning excursion.

San had heard that this new Trainer was quite the fan of birds of all varieties, and so hoped to make a great first impression with his own trusted flight-y friend. San just hoped they would show up soon; Cinder wasn't likely to stay docile for long...

They're not sure if it was real, but they often dream about the first time they were taken outside as a baby, swaddled in a blanket and cradled in loving arms. They dream about the cool whoosh of wind of a sliding door way air conditioner, and then a blinding brightness that startled their eyes open. They remember their eyes adjusting just enough through the blindness to see the clouds and the sun and a canvas of bright blue before they began to cry in a late reaction of instinctive shock. Then, a blanket pulled loosely above them, held carefully to give shade to calm their cries. Then darkness. They wish they hadn't cried.

When they'd first heard of the Wormhole opportunity, they'd balked. If there was one thing that technology had taught them, it was that you don't buy shit when it's new. You let everyone else with money buy it first, because they were the ones that could afford to fix all of the stuff that went wrong. You let everyone else buy it and be the guinea pigs and bug testers and file lawsuits when the thing exploded and took off their arm or something. Finch treated the Wormhole the same way: like some new car that still had some kinks in the safety features to work out. And so they waited, trawled news search results waiting for some tragedy. But surprisingly, it didn't come.

The window of opportunity began to close on Finch, and they were notoriously claustrophobic. So they took a leap of faith.

The trams are high-volume, but they don’t have any other option. Rumor had it that the Park typically let you choose your own means to get to your runs, whether it be a Park-supplied shuttle or mount, or even your own Pokemon. But security concerns surrounding the Wormhole not only meant thorough searches and an equally thorough background check, but also the requirement of taking the trams everywhere between areas. No more free-ranging until this thing was gone, it seemed.

Finch managed to nab a window seat and they’re glad they did; they needed to for their sanity. The cool of the glass against their forehead helps them ignore the crowding people that pack every bit of the small, confined space. It helps fight the rising panic in his gut that comes from being crammed like sardines into a ten ton metal box.

They watch the pulsing tunnel in the sky grow slowly closer. Pupils follow the ripple of light that signifies the energy flowing up through it. They’re giddy, now, rather than apprehensive. When they think about it, it makes sense--they’d spent endless time as a child staring up at the night sky. What greater honor could there be than to fly among the stars, beyond even the sky? Space was nothing to be scared of. The stars were to be striven for, not to be feared.

Loaded tram deposits them before the ruins, in a wide clearing meant to receive the Trainers and help them find their Rangers. The stream of passengers spills and spreads out like the maw of the Wormhole itself, splitting and mixing as they seek their Rangers. Finch steps aside then checks their registration on their phone, brows furrowing. San Sū-kagetsu… Beside the name was a quaint headshot. Finch took the easiest identifiable feature and ran with it: the bright, golden hair. They browse the crowd for that yellow sweep, but can’t seem to find it.

Suddenly, one of the Ultra Balls on their belt bursts open. A beam of neon crimson deposits a tall, draconic figure beside him, one that quickly stoops to give a leisurely stretch as he readjusts to the world. Large wings spread in the stretch, sporting a leathery, muted-blue membrane, fangs parting to loll his tongue. At the end, hooked tail curls neatly about the Noivern’s supporting hind limbs.

”Hey, no, Mimulnir…!” Finch hisses sharply, keeping their volume low. But Mimulnir has already raised red-spiked nose into the air, and with nostrils flaring loudly, begins to shuffle toward the treeline, pulling himself across the earth on clawed winglimbs. Finch glances nervously about before hurriedly stepping after him.

The wyvern practically jumps at the trunk of a tree, as if he were about to claw his way up, but he pauses instead and begins to emit a high-pitched whine, like some dog Pokemon whose toy has fallen out of reach. Finch steps carefully up to the dragon’s side and turns gaze upward, finding the target of Mimulnir’s obsessions: a Talonflame.

Finch smiles, reaching up to the stiff Talonflame tailfeather tucked behind their ears, fingertips trailing over the fluid Mega-Pidgeot feathers that rest below it. They set a calming hand into the Noivern’s windswept white mane, preparing to pull him away to find their Ranger, when they also see the human resting on a branch up above it.

”San?” they query, still a bit tentative despite seeing the telltale golden hair they’d been looking for. If their Ranger had brought the Talonflame to impress them, they’d at least gotten close; they’d captured their interest, at least. And, well, made a new dragon friend for their bird. Gaze flicks over the tree, figuring out what made Mimulnir show such restraint. Normally, the Noivern would have ripped up the tree to give the bird a likely-unwanted hug, but the branches were too tight for the large dragon to make it up without tearing up his own wings. Restraint was a first for the dragon. But hey, there was a first time for everything.

If you had asked San Sū-kagetsu that morning what he expected would happen today, San almost definitely would never have given the answer "A dragon is going to attack me while I'm sleeping in a tree." And yet here he was, the dragon at the bottom of the tree clawing and whining, and San couldn't help but think of himself as a soon-to-be dragon snack. However, right as San was about to panic, wishing he had kept Gamma there after all (if only for emotional support), a human pulled back on the infiltrator, stopping the assault and the noise, which San was sure Cinder was grateful for. "San?" he heard, meaning only one thing...

San Sū-kagetsu descended the tree with the gracefulness of a Vigoroth, showing off his balancing and precision as he expertly slid to the ground, hoping that whoever this Trainer was, they hadn't seen him about to flip out above, and instead focused on how cool he looked now. "Yes, I'm Ranger San Sū-kagetsu. And you are...?"

Before he could answer, San heard Cinder's nesting call behind him, and quickly shot out his arm so Cinder could land on his gloved hand instead of his shoulder; another detail San hoped his bird-loving new friend would enjoy, though he wasn't too certain now about the whole bird thing since the dragon had arrived.

"Sorry about that; Cinder gets annoyed being in the tree so long. So, are you the Trainer I'm going to be taking through the Wormhole today?"

Finch watches carefully as their Ranger startles at his voice, raising a somewhat amused eyebrow, but casting his gaze to Mimulnir to try to save him some face, to give San the impression that no, of course they hadn't seen that. Seen what? Eyes trawl over the shadows in the fluff of the dragon's mane for a few moments before dragging upward, just in time to see a more graceful landing a the tree's base.

San Sū-kagetsu, Finch thinks, rolling it in their thoughts for a moment. It was certainly a mouthful. They're grateful for the brevity of their own answer as they reply, simply: "Finch."

A shrill cry warns of the Talonflame's take to the sky. With a small smile curling at their lips, Finch looks up at the tree where San had been just in time to see it. Brilliant, thick ash feathers splaying open wide, like fingertips reaching out to whisper across the leaves. Fiery fringes dapple the undersides of the creatures down, and Finch can't help but search for the falcon's dark, piercing eyes locked within a sea of plumage set ablaze by orange. Branches sway and emerald leaves rustle beneath the gale generated by the bird's first beat. It's obvious for a few long moments that Finch is mesmerized by the bird's magnificence, so much so that they miss the first part of what San says, tuning back into reality at the tail end only.

"Uh, yeah." Finch runs thin fingers back through his windswept hair to break--and to hide--his own brief moment of embarrassment. Mimulnir, too, saves him; the maternal male dragon is a honing missile. He lunges from where he'd nearly begun crawling up the tree and immediately follows Cinder from down below. He gives a little bounce as he crosses the distance, then stops abruptly before San's arm.

The dragon's skull hovers near Cinder for a moment, horned nostrils flaring drastically as he sniffs in the creature's burnt scent. Then, without further hesitation, Mimulnir seeks to try to nuzzle his nose against Cinder's back with an excited but contented rumble.

Knowing they'll either be best friends or horrible enemies, and knowing they also can't change the outcome, Finch opts to ignore the potential death of their personal-space-invading-dragon and instead focus on their Ranger. They spare a glance for the towering Wormhole up above. Their stomach shifts with a mixture of uncertainty, but also excitement, before they look back at San.

Finch had watched Cinder very closely as he had descended from the tree, almost wistfully, and San couldn't hide a smirk. First impression, check. Now he just had to keep it up for the rest of the run, and having Cinder out of the ball the entire time certainly wouldn't hurt that prospect. And maybe it was working too well; after Cinder landed on his arm, and San began asking if they were going to be going into the Wormhole together, Finch was noticeably distracted by Cinder. San hoped it wouldn't be the same when they made it in, but suddenly he had another problem, namely the same dragon barreling down on them again. San had to hope that Finch had control of this Noivern; while San had ample experience with Dragons, with his own Jawsmine and Rhiak, he doubted Cinder would be able to deal with it crashing into him.

But, luckily, it seemed steamrolling San wasn't on the menu today. Mimulnir stopped just short, all eyes for Cinder, sniffing and... was that purring? Mimulnir snuggled up to Cinder, cozying up and caressing Cinder with its snout in a contented, friendly way. And for the second time that morning, San was absolutely floored. Cinder... was ok with it! Cinder, the same bird who would literally Flare Blitz Connie for looking in his direction, was fine with sharing its space with another Pokemon! This was a truly momentous occasion, broken only by the Trainer's sudden inquiry.

San cleared his throat and pulled Cinder away as he himself began walking towards the place where they would enter the portal. "Yep, we should. It's just a short walk away; we shouldn't have any problems making it in and getting into the first portal. Speaking of which, I dunno if they primed you for what's up ahead, but make sure you're ready to choose which portal we're going to go into; ideally, I'd like to spend as little time in the in-between as possible." He said as he started walking, adding, "Cinder doesn't particularly like it." Knowing this would speed up the process, they began the short trek to the base of the ruins.

Leathery nose eagerly plunges into soft down, Mimulnir's low purring intensifying as it meets the luxurious texture. He's prepared for the repercussions as soon as he does it; the myriad of differently-sized scars on his muzzle aren't just for looks. But he's even more happy when he realizes that his snuggly advances have been accepted! Mimulnir's disappointed when San clears his throat and pulls him away, but it's brief--he stares after Cinder excitedly, then to Finch, then back to Cinder, the front of his body stooped low and his tail lashing back and forth, like a dog bowed to play. Finch gives a soft laugh, and moves to follow San's lead.

"Come on, you goof," Finch says, sinking fingers into the dragon's mane to pull him gently with them. Mimulnir follows, happily, though Finch can't tell if it's only because they're following Cinder, too.

Mind races as they turn their eyes ahead, realizing that this was it. Gaze follows the shimmering tunnel up into the sky and they get that feeling again, a strange amalgamation of fear and excitement and nervousness and ambition. The stars are to be striven for, not feared, they remind themself, somewhat trying to re-convince themself of that fact. They were entering the unknown, after all. They barely process what San is saying, walking slowly, entranced by the wormhole's rippling form, light shimmering up it rhythmically. Like a heartbeat, they think. It's breathing.

Something, something, be ready to choose a portal, something, something. "Got it," they reply distantly--a lackluster attempt to give the appearance that San had their full attention. Finch doesn't mean to be rude; he's just stunned. And easily-captivated. Eyes don't leave the Wormhole for the entire trek, and when they arrive, they finally confront their fears, and prepare to fully face them.

Mimulnir, though, isn't scared at all--and that's precisely the problem. From behind them both, he stares, eyes practically glittering with the reflection of the portal. Drawn excitedly to the massive shiny bauble, wings spread wide, shimmering teal scales sweeping around them. Without hesitation, the dragon barrels all four of them into the portal, all connected by the Noivern's embrace!

It feels different for everyone. For Finch, it burns like a thousand suns the moment they enter it, like their flesh is being ripped away from their bones. But it's temporary, brief, because in the final seconds of darkness it feels like their burns are soothed by wind, and they feel like they're flying. It's as if the gale pierces every bit of them, as their body is reassembled bit-by-bit in the rush of spacial distortion. They're dropped into space, suddenly into existence, and Finch goes tumbling briefly in the emptiness until Mimulnir grabs them, maw locking carefully but firmly about the hood of their jacket.

Finch comes to their senses, blinking rapidly, then turns to look for San, still not quite registering the reality they've entered fully.

Being pushed into the wormhole was probably the least pleasant experience San had ever had, and he couldn't imagine how it felt to Cinder, who absolutely hated it. It wasn't necessarily painful for San; it felt as if his consciousness was moving on a bullet train line, hitting goalposts as it moved back to his body, but San had heard enough angry pained screeching from Cinder to know it was different for him, and probably others as well. It was impossible to know how long it took for San to regain consciousness, but he always felt as if it was short; and so, a short while after being barreled into the portal, San awoke, with Cinder still on his shoulder and Finch, with the mischievous Mimulnir just a short distance off. There was strange, silky darkness, and then there were the portals.

Large openings of bright colors and wispy luminescence loomed before them. San always wistfully looked at the colors, his senses having been heightened by the abrupt removal and replacement of his consciousness. Almost all of the portals were open, waiting to suck the trainers in, with the apprehension just before the onset of a storm. The only one blackened out was usually the most active; yellow bolts of electricity would usually crackle around the opening, but now it lay dormant; San didn't think it mattered much, though, with all the others opened. He moved over to where Finch was, ready to inquire about which portal he would decide to enter first, but also eager to get Cinder out of here and returned to a Pokeball for the next excursion back.